A Circle Is A Line

As a mountain I sit.
With melting roots
and frozen hair.

Owls circle passed
and rodents burrow in
As trees grow and fall.

Children toboggan to
Houses down below
to comfy winter smoke.

Glaziers grow
flowing away to sea
And back again to falling snow.

As a mountain I sit
And often think
Is there a next?

Wrapping & Unwrapping

I have written this poem as I rapidly become enamored with a beautiful woman. If you're reading this x.

You know that
Pair of eyes.
The pair that
can make you smile
or cry.

That familiar touch,
To gently help you
Through the day.

Those deep hugs,
that get you over,
All your scary dreams.

That naked foot
At the bottom of the bed.
Entwined,
Attached to toes,
Moving over skin.

A morning cup
Of tea.
Drank steaming,
Next to you.
As another day begins.
Happy.

Sparse beats

Music Influences – Max Cooper
Art/literature – Leonora Carrington
People - Squid

There was a time in my life, when digital music had to be hard, fast and very dirty. There was a time even earlier in my life, when I was an angry teenager, that songs had to contain the word 'fuck' for me to be interested. Now, on the cusp of middle age, I like my music a little more peaceful but sometimes insane. I still like my very heavy bass lines, the beat that twitches those feet, the psychedelic swirls that progress a song. Some days I even like lyrics, (especially those by Kimya Dawson, Bob Dylan...), but most lyrics seem lazy and bore me compared to the vibrancy of instruments or electronic trickery.

Digital music is fascinating to me, it annoys me when people say, 'but they only press play and stop.' does a conductor not just waggle a stick, some of these 'stop/play' people produce every single note on that track, others write there own computer software to make the sounds and some make their own instruments to personify their minds. For me it's a fantastically evolving art form, when mixed with digital visuals, even more mind bending.

Instrument music also inspires me. How a person connected to a shaped piece of wood, with strings, plugged into a socket, or a formed lump of hollow brass plugged into a person can make such beauty. It's utter madness.

I guess this came from a weekend spent with a lovely women, we chilled, chatted, ate... We went to listen to a friend play on Saturday night, a friend from university. Playing minimal electronic music, in a concrete bar. It was a simple but brilliant night. A tasty meal , a chilled bar, engaging music, chat. None of the chaos of a full evening clubbing, not sleeping for two days...

I feel for my last few weeks in London, I need this peace. Moving to Hong Kong will be crazy. I feel gutted about leaving this wonderful woman behind, and I spend many hours con quoting plans not to. But it's tough. Why do you meet perfect people just as life's direction changes? Just like the electronic tune, that builds intensity, beautiful synths overlayed, people begin to dance, the beat intensifies, the bass becomes a little fuller, minds get lost in the repetitive rhythm, all feet move over the dance floor; dance more, whole bodies twitch, eyes close and notes and beats flow over the body, deep bass booting the chest, lost in the dance, lost to the musicians whim, they can take you anywhere at this point – the whole room just one.

Leaving London Town (soon).

The job decision decided. The London job fell through, at the last moment. My cards played for me. It's off to Hong Kong in five or six weeks. Scary stuff, 'How does one go about emigrating?' I guess this blog will provide the answers over the next few weeks.

It should be exciting, but it feels lonely. I'll be leaving someone who has my heart. I'll be leaving many friends who have my joy. Naturally my first thought was to go and see my heart's harbor. So I popped downstairs, jet bike keys in hand. The engine on my jet bike is broken, so I power it using an assorted collection of happy birthday balloons and a hand held fan. Luckily the wind was with me; the journey shouldn't take too long.

Balloons inflated, fan switched to full – I set off...

Drifting over London's sky line is amazing, I'm not sure whether people have ever landed at Heathrow, it's one of the best plane landings in the world. I float down Kennsington High Street, passed the anti-social police who search the pockets of homeless people, before moving them on. Passed a collection of gaudy and predictable consumer havens. Passed the tube station; which I try to avoid. High above Hyde Park, where I sometimes run circumnavigating the Beautifully Baroque Albert Hall, home to concerts and smiles.

Over Marble Arch, with statues of ripped hero's of old on stallions. Tall Georgian business districts, beautiful but inaccessible, wave to the Queen at The Palace, pass down bustling oxford street, Christmas songs already playing for shoppers (maybe I need some ball bells for my tree). Glass shop windows display what you 'can' have through an impenetrable barrier. The far reaching chimney pot skyline of a beautiful city.

Themes slipping through London to my side. Days of old it delivered money to the banking district, now optical connections do that. Glass monoliths that influence The World. Train lines that go everywhere. Trendy east London, tight jeans and hair cuts, pubs and bars where I often smile and dance with friends. I set the jet bike down in Bethnal Green, lock it to an iron fence painted black, opposite The Buddhist Center.

I ring the door bell, lucky guess the password, take the lift upstairs, heart beating, hands sweaty. Curry ingredients in hand.

I'll miss London Town, but I want to leave happy. I feel my heart will be harbored for eons to come.

Tree house dream

This is simply a daydream but maybe a real dream.

I've always wanted,
To live in a tree.
So I glued leaves
To my glasses.

Now I sit still,
In my living room.
With new friends.
Talking in Song.

The Magpie is
The most caring.
We both like
Shiny things.

Tomorrow, I think,
I'll build a swing,
And just maybe,
A fireman's pole.

Then I'll be ready,
To have old friends
Around for tea.
We'll sit and laugh.

Just Another Day

London, London, London. A friends birthday, another friends engagement celebration, a gig, a pub, a club. Lots of friends, some I hadn't seen for years, some I've only recently met. All the makings for night of madness.

London for me, at the moment is a good place to be. There seems to be something happening here, a large group of people who have found each other, through mutual love of music, mashing up, hanging out, chatting and honesty. Twenty or thirty somethings, careers and vaporous weekend memories.

The night moved beautifully along, driven by a soup of alcohol and extras. Lots of chats, belated hugs, dancing, silliness all over the place. I'm lucky I guess, when I get wasted I smile, I'm not a violent person, never get into fights, arguments or any of that rubbish.

The night slipped on, through peoples houses and the streets of London, bottles of taquilla, couches and music. Suddenly it was Saturday evening, where had the next day evaporated to. A friend cooked cous cous. The chat was incredibly honest and refreshing, people spreading the love between friends, laughing.. But finally after a quick couch snooze it was time to head to bed. To my surprise I got a text from a friend, who I really want to be a lover. She was inviting me to watch the sunset on Brighton Beach. So I went to bed smiling, excited about the next day.

And it was a beautiful day, we sat on the beach listening to green waves whisper hello as the clouds cleared and the west was red and yellow and orange - the end of a weekend. We went for dinner, then home, hugged deeply and caught trains going in opposite directions.

Now it's Monday, a new week of possibilities.

Hangover Monologue

This poem was a hangover poem, dedicated to my love of the previous night - wine and vodka.

Wine voice woman
Tongue sweet with roses
Worship my pillow whispers
But your breath befouls me.

If you cared you'd ask
Just why?
Empty bottles cover the floor.

The answers not deep
Or traumatic
Or repressed.

It's a ticket for something more
It's a shattered glass
It's a simple loving caress.

Which Job Do I Take

Influences of the while

Books: Automated Alice – Jeff Noon
Music : Augie March & N type
Film: Baste Taste - Peter Jackson.

Well, in essence I lost my job a while ago. It was my fault really, I decided to ride a bike across Central America. Was it my fault though, I was fleeing a crumbled relationship. Yes, it probably was. That has led me here though, unemployed but two job offers in hand. One in London, where a lot of friends live, and one in Hong Kong, where a new adventure lie. Both fun jobs, engineering sustainable buildings (it's what I do best). Anxiety over what to do is driving me quite mad. My brain seems to explode with fire crackers of options, possibilities and futures.

Well only one way to decide, fill out two acceptances, select two random post boxes in London, assign a job to each, I walk, which ever one I find first is the job I take. Simple. Well nothing is really simple is it.

I had walked about 2 miles when the people around me started to stagger and scowl at me. Rude I thought, but London after all. I walk a bit further, I got a little offended when I saw a couple in an advanced state of foreplay in the street. They were biting each others necks. Passionately. Anyway I was almost at Soho so anything goes I guess.

A question I often ask myself, 'Do you cross the street to help, if you see someone getting attacked?'

Always, I have always thought until today. As I turned a corner I saw a young woman ruthlessly stabbing an suited man in the skull. I didn't run across the road, I fell to my knees, crippled, and cried out 'Help!', 'Somebody, police, someone.' but the people around me seemed oblivious, in a nine to five trance. Sushi for lunch and tips for dessert.

I just stood there, the knife kept plunging in and sucking out. Blood and skull pattering on the pavement. People just walked on by. I slumped against the wall in mental exhaustion. A stream of people flowed passed. And passed. More people. I guess the blood was flowing across the street, I wasn't watching anymore.

The more people that passed me the more they seemed to look at me. Look at me like I wasn't one of them. Look at me like I wasn't a person. The more I looked at them, the more they looked distant, almost alien.

Suddenly a middle aged man in jeans and t-shirt, the type I'd wear, turned to me. His lips quivered. His eyes, although they focused on me, seemed vaporous. His lips turned into a snarl, then they opened and let out terrific cry. The street stopped and turned, turned to me, started to crowd around me, looking intently. Looking like they wanted me.

My legs took over, my arms pushed and swept aside as I ran, ran for anywhere.

Only once I looked over my shoulder, only once I saw the a baying crowd with automated steps chasing me down.

After that I ran, ran fast, and faster. Until my lungs burned and I was safe in my friends flat. I still had both letters, I still don't know which job to take – Any suggestions, I assume the zombies have left now..

Digging for answers

I was digging over my mother’s allotment today, passing time before my new job starts. I was slowly turning over the clods of earth, meeting many earthworms; most of them pleasant. At one point, the fork slipped suspiciously easily into the ground, in fact it slipped all the way to the handle. I rattled it around in the ground, which was a little strange, more earth fell away, the ground beneath my feet began to slip, my knees disappeared, then my hips. For a brief moment all I saw was a swirling soily tunnel until I thudded onto a cold damp floor.

I was sitting on my bum in an angular cuboid cavern. The light came from the comparatively small hole from where I’d fallen. A giant earthworm with a bobble hat on both ends spoke, ‘Hi I’m Albert.’ ‘And I’m Edgar’ each phrase came from under a different hat. ‘We’re siamese worms.’ Both mouths said in unison. ‘We also have split personalities; sometimes we switch bodies. You don’t need to know this however; you’ve come for different answers.’

I suspected either Albert or Edgar was talking out of their arse.

With that the earthen walls swelled into pictures, these were nothing like the oily holographs I’d seen before, there hues were dense, there forms almost palpable. Gradually after a few flickers my face appeared. Although there were no tears my blue eyes seeped sadness. I noticed how blue they were, had I ever noticed this before?

‘You don’t know do you?’ my face spoke,
‘Know What?’ I answered
‘What to do.’
‘About what?’
‘The woman, your new job.’
‘Yes, I know I’m off to London, the city, the music, friends, vibrancy.’
‘Yeah but the woman has gone.’
‘No she hasn’t!’
‘She has, what bit of I’m off back to old boyfriend didn’t you understand?’
‘She might not be, might be just getting her head together.’
‘Might be, might not, but she’s gone.’
‘Yeah but it was so good, how could she go.’
‘Was it good.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, it seemed good, we spoke, we joked, we laughed, we had fun.’
‘She was fucked up over her ex though, she just needed a tonic.’
‘But the tonic was good, it worked.’
‘Yes, but only a tonic, and a stupidly intense tonic, look at your blood pressure - 132 over 80 something and you’re half marathon fit. That’s not right.’
‘So what are you saying, I shouldn’t go to London. I shouldn’t live on valerium.’
‘Maybe, check the job offer in Hong Kong, a new country, lights, music, new people and food that’s a whole lot better than London.’
‘She really has gone hasn’t she, that fiery romance, burnt out like magnesium, ashes floating off in the wind. Yeah time for a new start, maybe Hong Kong, maybe London. A new start whichever.’

The hole ejected me like a broken piston part, my hands we’re blistered from the digging, a reasonable area of the allotment turned over and a fine autumn drizzle starting. Gardening is quite meditative.

The Office – towing the corporate line

Do I really want a new job, I remember one from a while ago...

The day was long, too long, many hours sat numbing my mind at the office. Maybe the week was too long, maybe I needed out of this shit. Forty Five pounds rested in my pocket, a gram of coke in my colleagues. The tension had built throughout the day, how do we do the exchange under the gaze of straight colleagues and bosses. Subtle e-mail correspondence. Under the pretense of work, slipped between files, passed between hands. Cash for good times, same old same old.

A gram of coke rested in my pocket. Now understand I’m not an addict, but I really wanted a hit. Sitting down at the computer, devoid of interest and wanting more, I felt the wrap burn my leg, begging me, just a cheeky one, a bump to see off the day, a spark of something else, something better than a customer account, or a flashing cursor and an easily irascible boss.

Off to the cubical I marched with familiar apprehension swelling. You try to be subtle, but how subtle can inhaling a line be. I racked it up on the toilet role dispenser, sharply breathing in the good times. A bitter taste of solid but sordid friendship Splashed cold water on the face, shuck the drips, grinned in the mirror and strutted back to a slightly less mundane job. Life can be fun I thought, life was fun I felt.

Ode to Bukowski's Words

I wrote this poem a while ago, so i guess it is a blog cheat. But i really like it. I also admire Bukowski's freedoma and words, even if he was a misogynistic prick.

lumps of cork
float in my wine
as another evening turns to night
the loneliness of a
different ambition
the smokiness of a fading life
wisps of it
melting into rooms
which in turn melt into a
monotonous world
of blurred expectations
it's strange but is isn't
life is not what we make of it
but the words that surround it

Hollywood Ending

This started off as a poem about winning a heart but turned into an anti-capitolist rant. it's funny how words evolve.

Dead rodent breath.
Saturday morning blues.
Win the prize.
By bribing the judge.
Only got to find
that lethal judge.
Living free amongst
skeletal trees of autumn.
graveyard fantasy.
hydrocarbon vapour.

Monday's Lunacy

This is my first post, a poem i wrote on the same morning as the post. It is one of my favourite pieces of writing i have ever written. It talks of evaporating love and herbal anti-anxiety pills. But generally the crazed freedom of Monday.

Ripping through fields of tulips,
Like a drunk combined harvester.
Throwing flowers away over my shoulder.
Laughing at the lunacy of Monday.
It's been a while my friend valerium,
Knocked on your door with a cup of tea,
Synaptic breakfast mutilation.
Oceans of flowers envelop me,
Red and yellow petal vision,
Driving blues - thank you Bob.
Fine rain drop pollen mist,
Tickles the sides, as it all hits home.